


spreading our ashes in the sun

by moralityism



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Chess, Gen, Relationship Study, alivebur- and schlatt-typical implications of violence and death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28274838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moralityism/pseuds/moralityism
Summary: Schlatt and Wilbur meet one last time the night before the 16th to talk about the future. (Title from "Icarus" by the Crane Wives.)
Relationships: Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	spreading our ashes in the sun

**Author's Note:**

> For a Secret Santa event on a rp server I participate in. Happy holidays, Cree! I hope you have a wonderful week.
> 
> _climb ye higher, and higher, and higher  
>  leave our footprints to be lost along the ground  
> oh my brother, my brother, my brother  
> there is nothing left to bring me back down_
> 
> _spreading out our ashes in the sun  
>  in the sun, in the sun  
> spreading out our ashes in the sun  
> in the sun, in the sun_

Schlatt is already on his second bottle of beer when he hears his front door slam. It’s neatly in time with a burst of thunder that rattles the walls of his home, so that he has to strain his ears to hear the characteristic muttering that always seems to trail after his guest nowadays.

“— _one day visa_ on the rainiest day of the goddamn year, and of course he invites me over at ass o’clock in the morning—”

“Hey, Wilbur!” Schlatt calls, grinning. “You’re late!”

“We’re going to be fighting in fucking _mud pits_ tomorrow, Schlatt!” Wilbur shouts back, accompanied by the _thud-thud-thud_ of him tracking rain and mud up Schlatt’s stairs. The door slams open to reveal Wilbur, dripping wet and fuming. 

Schlatt raises his beer bottle in a _cheers_ motion. “Good to see you,” he greets. “Want a drink?”

Wilbur scoffs. “One of us has to not be terrifically hungover for tomorrow,” he chastises, snatching Schlatt’s bottle out of his hands. He immediately downs the rest of the bottle as he collapses into the chair opposite Schlatt.

Schlatt just snorts and grabs another bottle out of the pack. “Can’t get hungover if you don’t stop drinking,” he jokes.

Wilbur rolls his eyes. “Why am I even bothering to fight you? I can just wait for your liver to give out.” He considers the chessboard in between them, set up by marginally-more-sober Schlatt half an hour or so prior. He lifts up one of his pieces with a raised eyebrow at Schlatt, asking, “So I’m the black king here, hm?”

“You _are_ trying to overthrow a government you helped elect,” Schlatt responds, leaning back in his chair. “And planning to blow it all up afterwards, right?” Wilbur watches him, a faint smile affixed to his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes. He doesn’t reply. “I’ve been dying to know, is that going to be your first act as president if you win?” Schlatt continues. “Destroying everything?”

“Oh, I won’t be president when we win,” Wilbur says, waving a hand dismissively. “Go ahead, white moves first.” 

Schlatt quirks an eyebrow at Wilbur, but moves one of his pawns forward. “Who’s going to be president, then?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Wilbur says casually, picking up one of his own pawns and rolling it in his hands for a moment before placing it. “I’m thinking Tommy.”

Schlatt silently reaches for the beer bottle he’d grabbed earlier and pops it open. Wilbur bursts out laughing, nearly shaking the table in an attempt to steady himself. Schlatt moves another pawn while he waits, meeting Wilbur’s move head-on and freeing up his queen to move. 

“Aw, c’mon, Schlatt,” Wilbur coos once he catches his breath, leaning over the table. “Tommy’s wanted _so badly_ to be the president all this time. Might as well let him have his moment in the spotlight before I blow it all up, don’t you think?” He smiles widely, moving his knight to back up his pawn. “It’d suit him, anyway. To be president of a crater.”

“And you’re just gonna watch and laugh at him, huh?” Schlatt notes. Wilbur just hums. “Shame, it was always cute watching you baby him. Gotten sick of him? Too much time together in your little pit?” 

“Tommy doesn’t learn unless you let him fall,” Wilbur responds. He’s started to drum his fingers on the table. He’s a thing of constant motion nowadays, like he’ll keel over if he stops twitching for even a second. “If he hasn’t figured it out by now, he’s not going to until it happens to him.” 

“Figures what out?” Schlatt asks disinterestedly, looking over the board. He doesn’t spare Wilbur a glance, though the tapping is annoying.

“That nothing good happens to the presidents of this country,” Wilbur answers. “Check.”

Schlatt raises his glass. He can drink to that, at least. Nobody ever fucking _listens_ , is the problem. They _all_ think they’re the goddamn president. No wonder the place keeps falling apart. It’s Wilbur’s fault, though. He built that country on those ideals, and then got surprised when people followed them. Dumbass. 

Schlatt scans the board again and clicks his tongue. This’ll be a pain to get out of. “Bastard,” he mutters. Wilbur giggles. There’s a few moments of silence while Schlatt works his way out of Wilbur’s trap. Wilbur keeps the pressure on him, but he manages to get his king into a position where Wilbur would have to give up his queen to get him. Wilbur notices it too, and leans back in his chair with a huff. Safe for now. 

“Tommy might have a _little_ more luck,” Schlatt muses, watching Wilbur look over the board. Still with the goddamn tapping. “I mean, he and Tubbo are joined at the damn hip. Least he’s got someone he can be sure won’t put a knife in his back.” Honestly, Schlatt doesn’t know how he didn’t see Tubbo’s betrayal coming from a mile away. He likes to think he just didn’t know him well enough yet.

But it’s visible from a mile away the second you see him together with Tommy, which is why Schlatt pauses in confusion when Wilbur laughs at that last comment. “I don’t know about that,” Wilbur says. He’s finally stopped drumming his fingers against the table, if only to switch to knocking the base of his bishop against the wood while he thinks. “Tommy might just be bad enough at government that even he gets ditched. If he even has the patience to rebuild, but he might just be that foolishly stubborn.” He places the bishop and returns to his previous tapping. “Check.”

“You think he’ll keep trying when you’re gone?” Schlatt asks disinterestedly. He’ll have to sacrifice a pawn, but it’s no major loss.

Wilbur stares at him openly for a long moment. “So that’s your play,” he finally says, a smile creeping its way back onto his face. “I was wondering what you were planning to do if you won.”

It’s a fair question. Everyone on Schlatt’s side has betrayed him with the exception of Dream, who Schlatt blackmailed into defending him, and the mercenaries that hang onto his coattails. And he hasn’t deluded himself into thinking that Dream’s patience won’t wear out eventually.

But every spirit has a limit. The man sitting across from Schlatt right now, smugly placing him into yet another check, is a perfect example of that. And once they’re broken, Schlatt will surely be able to do as he pleases with them. He’ll just have to find a way to make that _enough_ before Dream tires of him. He moves his king out of the way of Wilbur’s queen, pauses to watch him hum over the board. “Fine by you, huh?” he asks. 

Wilbur shrugs and brings a pawn forward. Ugh, that’ll be annoying to counter. “Same result whether I win or lose,” he points out. “I don’t see how it matters who becomes the president of the ruins.”

“And if you happen to die before you can get to the button?” Schlatt asks, bringing a pawn face-to-face with Wilbur’s. Wilbur glances up at him, eyes glittering — not with amusement, but...something. He pulls his bishop out of its position at his queen’s back to nestle it right in the middle of Schlatt’s pieces. It’s a bizarrely easy grab. Schlatt takes it anyway.

Wilbur smiles.

“Oh, I won’t,” he says lightly. Schlatt narrows his eyes. He doubts anyone on Wilbur’s side actually _wants_ him to blow shit up — Technoblade, maybe, if the rumors about his political leanings are correct. But Technoblade wouldn’t lower himself to being a _bodyguard_ for someone whose only job is to push a button. 

So who is he counting on?

Wilbur inches his queen over one more space, right next to Schlatt’s king. “Check.”

Schlatt looks down at the board. “Well, fuck,” he says aloud. He moves his king, but it’s over, and they both know it. “Who’s protecting you tomorrow?”

“Who’s protecting _you_?” Wilbur responds. He moves a pawn out of the way — releasing his bishop, which shoves Schlatt right back into check. “We’re both leading armies, and we’re both terrible at fighting. If I’m taken, the TNT is safe — and if you’re taken, nobody on your side cares anymore.” 

Schlatt moves a pawn into the way of the attack. Wilbur’s smile grows wider, and he slips his queen further forward on the board, prepped to attack Schlatt’s king from behind.

“Dream’s protecting you, sure,” Wilbur continues, “because you’ve got something over his head. But you and I both know his real interest is in seeing L’Manberg burn to the ground. And if the only thing keeping him on your side is something known only to the two of you...well, he’s got better ways of getting you out of his hair than by doing what you say.”

Schlatt moves his queen up, behind Wilbur’s. If he tries to take it, there’s still a chance… But Wilbur just nudges a pawn forward. Schlatt can take it with his king, sure, but it’ll land him in checkmate.

“Are you trying to fuck with me?” Schlatt asks. “You think if you threaten me, I’ll stop working with Dream?”

“Of course not,” Wilbur says, laughing. “You don’t have any other choice. And neither do I. No point in changing our minds now. I’m just thinking aloud.” 

Schlatt takes the attacking pawn. He has nowhere else to go. Wilbur slides a rook up, surrounding Schlatt entirely. “Checkmate,” Wilbur says, sounding _almost_ regretful. “We were friends once, Schlatt.”

“Yeah, and then you went fucking crazy,” Schlatt responds. 

“Side effect of being president,” Wilbur tells him. Schlatt doesn’t raise a glass this time. Wilbur starts to reset the board again without being prompted, blithely ignoring Schlatt’s eyes on him. “Another match?”

“What the fuck is your play here, Wilbur?” Schlatt interrupts. “You’re not an idiot — you don’t really think you can scare me into surrendering, do you?”

“Of course not,” Wilbur scoffs. “It doesn’t matter to me either way what you do or if you surrender. Might make it harder for me to get what I want if you do, really. But as I was saying, we used to be friends.” He lifts the empty bottle he stole from Schlatt earlier, examining the label with a blank expression. Schlatt realizes belatedly that he’s barely touched his own beer the entire time they’ve been playing. He refuses to grab it now, refuses to follow Wilbur’s lead. He’s let Wilbur have too much power in this conversation anyway. “I just think,” Wilbur says, quieter, “that this’ll be much sadder to watch if you’re not expecting it.”

Schlatt does pick up the bottle then. He takes a long swig of it before turning back to Wilbur. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

Wilbur shrugs and gets to his feet., pushing in his chair neatly behind him. Goddam tryhard. “For the record,” he says, “it really was a lovely festival. Calling Technoblade up to do the execution was a nice touch. You _almost_ broke us apart.”

“I hope you survive tomorrow,” Schlatt tells his beer bottle. “I hope you come out of your explosion fucking _untouched_.”

“Oh, life always finds a way,” Wilbur says. “See you tomorrow, Schlatt.”

Schlatt doesn’t watch him leave. He waits until he hears the door slam shut before downing the rest of the bottle and opening a new one.

He doesn’t bother cleaning up the chessboard before the fight. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr @asc3ndant!


End file.
